


Stains Of A Rainbow

by PlasticEyes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Ratings may change, excess use of metaphors, guess who finally gets caught, shock therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 08:06:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7676698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlasticEyes/pseuds/PlasticEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What was that Gabriel?"</p><p>"I said, it’s called being horny."</p><p>(In which Widowmaker is really gay.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stains Of A Rainbow

.

...

.

“Ready to go on a date already love?”

She spit up, earning a “blech” from her opponent and resulting in a loosening of her entrapment, allowing her to bring her knees up to her chest and kicking outwards onto her stomach. Tracer, winded by the feet to her torso, found herself airborne for only a second before her back smashed into the cemented ground of the building.

“Don’t call me that.”

Already on her toes, Widowmaker glided steps to her opponent, halting only when her elbow smashed into an acute jaw. Tracer, quick with her momentum, swiftly reciprocated the action by hurtling a fist across her face and zipping a good couple feet away to breathe.

“Oh right – _ouch_ that hurts – right. Why don’t I just call you –ah what was it…cherry? Charry? Churro?”

“Do not mock me, _cherie_.”

“That’s the one! Way better than Widowmaker, sorry for being blunt. I’ve got t’be real here though, it’s such a handful to say. Four syllables love! Four, count’em. Wid –ow –ma –cker. Outlandish if ya’ ask me.”

Though she could hardly wipe the hint of a smile from her face.

“I wasn’t asking.”

“Pah. You were thinkin’ it.”

Once again they were at it, always an absolute _thrill_ for them both. Opponents midway in their speeding ballet of wrestles, exchanging hits after sneers and blocks before strikes. The core purpose of the mission maybe even lost after a few minutes, complete focus centered on every contact of their skin and deeper meaning to each other’s words.

“Just shoot me already!”

She tried, over and over. Missing each time and showing her frustration with every careless blow.

“You’ve got to do bett’a then that love!”

Laughing at her, degradation she would no doubt remind herself on within the hours of midnight.

“You call this a challenge?”

 _Yes_ , it always has been. It always will be. The nagging voice in the back of her head reviving to life every moment she aimed and _shot_. Missed –and hearing the baleful chortle laugh out the repressed thoughts she’s fought far and wide to keep concealed.

“You tired or somethin’? I thought I was dealin’ with Talons finest here.”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Nope.”

Ending in the same manner as always. [Mission Status: Incomplete ]

…

I cannot sleep.

When my eyes are closed, I become defenseless. A nocturnal animal gone rogue against its required nature. Where the welcoming dark is usually marked to be hospitable, moments as these suggest otherwise. The instances where I am inclined to sit up and stare, submit into the nightmare. My hands shake, but why? My eyes are wet, but how? Something indefinite, repetitive, an eccentric development that didn’t seem to be halting towards my overall predicament.

She was always there, swimming in the vast depths of my nowhere.

“What was that Gabriel?”

“I said, it’s called being _horny_.”

I was aware of what he said the first time. I just couldn’t believe he had the actual audacity to say it in the first place. Accordingly, and not surprisingly, I did not react very well –not a second sooner sending him to the medical bay.

Yes, admitted she was attractive. Striking in the way that seemed to just force brand pictures of herself into your head. Infuriating in that way where everything done would somehow relate with her.

I, nonetheless, have complete self-control.

So when my eyes would be forced shut, unwillingly pulled back into the frightening mess of a dream, visions of her would soon appear. They differentiated among themselves. Some having her voice speak but with no body to show, while others instead showed her form in all radiance but with no face to speak with. Other times there would be the obvious blue flashes of her running by, circling a woozy flight in mockery of my languid movements reaching out to a gun blazing a burning touch. The variety stretched, on occasions even having other unwelcomed visiting men and women standing side by side. Her laugh would be signs of sin whilst the moan rocketing off her tongue brought a clench to my stomach that usually had me awakening --

 _Wet_.

I cannot sleep.

I also, coincidentally, do not wish to sleep.

So I do not sleep.

Which often leaves me to ponder on my thoughts and illusions. Something Talon has regularly warned me to take caution of.

_Let’s take the comparison and contrasting of sea and space._

La mer. [Sea]

L'espace [Space]

The ambiguities of both are always to be shared. An equivocal investigation that will almost always never be solved or completed, even despite the immense exploration of both areas. Regardless of this, they can both be ventured into –submarine vs. space craft and diving equipment vs. spacesuit.

No mistake of it, they are also equally dangerous. Cold and livid with organisms and attributions treacherous enough to kill you on the spot. One accident, one slip up is all it can take before the looming walls of death close on you in just a momentary _snap_ of a finger. Chilling and frozen as they can be, pressuring and compressing as they stand. Yet even as they are characterized in this way, there is always heat; expressed in different forms and appearance. Stars, heated gases in opposition to volcanoes, underwater as their magma strives through the midst of the very weakness it embraces with. Stars as they combust and volcanoes as they erupt.

They are both a cosmic arena of survival. They both stand to be immeasurable in evaluation and establishment. Gravity and weight are a misapprehension –a delusion, a confusion, a never ending sensation of restitution.

A convolution.

Since it was a memory not quite understood.

Nostalgia of a feeling that perhaps once may have been appealing, yet now only unshed a revealing fact directed on me. A realization that had my head spinning and reeling, stomach churning and throat sealing. Short of breath yet inhaling with desperation for oxygen that my heart didn’t seem to be interested in.

I am Widowmaker, I am Amelie. I am two people trapped in one body. I am a mold of personalities and skills, defiant and bold.

I am –in love?

Ridicule. [Ludicrous

…

She didn’t squint underneath the florescent lights. Her hands didn’t shiver when the metallic straps wrapped around her wrists, tightening automatically until they fit snug and secure.

“What is your label?”

“Widowmaker.”

She didn’t flinch with any question asked. She watched the three carefully as they bustled around, two at the controls of the machinery hooked up to her vitals and nerves while one began the standard questioning procedure.

“What is your name?”

“Amelie.”

She didn’t avoid eye contact with the practitioner. An equal gaze of steel walls facing each other.

“Who is in authority over you?”

It was hard for to suppress an eye roll at this. “The Talon Agency.”

“Why are you here?”

Monotone. “To serve the Talon Agency.”

“What is your occupation?”

“Executioner, assassin, murderer, guerrilla, eliminato-”

“That’s enough.”

Not looking at her as he said this, pencil already scribbling notes frenetically across the clipboard. She could have commented on this action, a snarky remark stated out load that could have even been considered humorous to his colleagues. She held her tongue of course, knowing full well who was in command at the moment.

“Lastly before your standard behavioral managing,” he finally inquired, clicking his pen shut and focusing back to her. Eyes hidden under the glare of his glasses. “Tell me Widowmaker. What is your favorite color?”

“Orange.”

It wasn’t even said with the slightest hint of hesitation. She wouldn’t lie, she knew there was no _point_ in lying. For the past month she had felt herself dangerously slipping into an uncharted version of herself. The anticipation for her monthly “check-up”, or in other words _reconditioning_ , hadn’t been very high.

12,000 volts per thousand amp was the recommended energy to be used.

“Care to explain why?”

 _Just breathe._ “I see it in my dreams. I like it. It contrasts well to the color purple.”

“Is that all?”

“No.”

“Well,” she can feel all three eyes staring holes into her. “Don’t you feel it’d be best to tell me more?”

Here she did couldn’t stop herself, snorting before answering a quick, “No.”

“And why’s that?”

“It will only increase the volts to my treatme -” was obviously the wrong thing to say. Too late to stop herself, the message already put clear for all three to hear. She mentally slapped herself, cursing lightly under her breath.

“Alright then,” he smiled, pocketing his pen and tucking the clipboard underneath his arm. “16,000 it is.”

Widowmaker reacted to this quickly, slightly unoriginal when it comes came to her character but acceptable to her current circumstances. Her body shifted, hands turning over to clench at the metal chairs frame. Body tensing and muscle straining, she pushed her head into the back of the chair.

“Clear the area, ready in 15.”

Her tongue pressed against the roof to her mouth to avoid slitting it. Teeth were clamped down, eyes closed and breathes steadied.

“…eleven…ten…”

Jaw clenched rigidly, toes curling inwards and mouth twitching.

“…six …five…”

“Bâtards.” [Bastards]

 _One_ never came though. The abrupt snap of her _spine –_ didn’t come either. There was only a deafening ring, jingling a _ringa ding ding_ with her hearing and having her blearily blink open her eyes. From the large window just in front of her, she could see the hallway. There was light and an obvious commotion shaking through the room. Smoke and –and a hole in the wall? Light traces of fire put out into charcoal from the many boots stepping over it.

“Move move! Extract and detract let’s go!”

There were colors streaming in. Green, metal armor blue, gray bulk, white and yellow wings. Streaming in and blasting through and deeper into the laboratory. Their focuses were concentrated (apparently), as none gave a hint to spotting her. Wide eyed, Widowmaker chose to only watch as the three scientists scrambled for the exits. Probably heading towards the alarms. Idiots. Leaving her to find a way to break out from the restraints and join the fight on her own.

Well, as it plays out. Since luck is just _always_ on Widowmaker’s side.

The device was still involuntary. So the number one _did_ come. Unanticipated. Bringing a surprised yelp that soon turned into a prolonged cry. Her nails dug into the skin of her palm, red spreading all over and everywhere. Red in her skin, red in the walls, red in the blinking powering controls just in front of her.

Make it **stop**.

It wasn’t supposed to last this long. She knew it, or at least she had thought it before losing all logic on reality. Ten seconds, fifteen at most.

She couldn’t move and yet her entire body was trembling up an earthquake. The taste of smoke was being breathed unwillingly through erratic gasps for air. Her heart was beating with no pace. She was hardly breathing, she wasn’t breathing. She wasn’t in control of anything anymore and nothing was becoming clearer as it fading all at once. Sense wasn’t making sense, her head wasn’t thinking _hence_ the scream that was trapped in the back of her throat along with the bile just waiting to spit its way out.

_**Arrête ça, s'il te plaît** [Make it stop please.]_

Her mouth parted, jaws fighting a fight soon to be won as she finally managed to gurgle out a strangled cry. A noise that could have been considered animalistic. An animal, a beast in a cage made of metal spiked tips searing with red hot fire and stabbing into every one of her organs.

What is love?

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.

Voices intermingling with the silent ringing until--

It stopped. It _did_ stop. It _finally_ stopped.

Her eyes were then closed, muscles seizing excluding an occasional twitch here and there. She was exhausted at once, body slumping forward and only held up by the metal that bonded her wrists and feet. Not even having the energy to open her eyes and look up to the owner of the soft fingers caressing at her cheek. There was a fire sweeping everywhere along her skin, and a smell that would have had her gag if it weren’t for the complete fatigue that had swept over her form.

“Let’s go Tracer!”

Voices now heard in the echoes all around her. They were circling her. Discussing her fate whilst she herself could hardly even manage to make a noise.

“But we can’t jus’ leave her here!”

“Yes we _can_ , it’s enough you just helped so let’s _go!_ ”

“No –no no we have to get her out of here.”

“Tracer! Tra –Lena, honey. Honey. Please find the rational of your brain and –y’know what okay you’re doing it anyway never mind. Ana’s going to be so pissed at m-”

Widowmaker wasn’t sure what was happening at the given point of time. _Feeling_ the things going on around her wasn’t possible with her body’s current condition, and perceiving the people’s action touching and moving at her figure was hardly registered. There was only black and faint echoes while a smell so absolutely horrid drifted along her flickering consciousness.

Have you ever smelled burned flesh?

It’s not really a smell that can be forgotten.

It was a prolonged scream. Someone’s scream, a person’s scream, a human scream, the spectrum's color scheme towering over her. Burns in her languid bloodstream, struggling through a congested upstream and sliding down the oily downstream. A nightmare confused as a daydream.

Widowmaker was scared. Amelie was scared. Whoever the _fuck_ she called herself was scared. When her eyes opened there was only color, a blur and mix of shades swirling into a mess of daze and bewilderment.

“Keep her held down Lena!”

“Yeah y’know these transport planes of ours aren’t exactly the most stable is ya’ haven’t noticed. This gal’s also pretty stro-”

“Fareeha help Lena – _verdammt[damn it]_ it’s down to the bone. Someone get Ana in here!”

“Can’t you just use your glowey staff thing or somethin’?”

“It’s a Caduceus and -,” another shout interrupted her speech, pulling her focus back down to the withering woman bellow her. “It’s still in its beginning stages of revitalizing. I swear –Hana! Go and get Ana _now_!”

“Jeez, hang on I’m looking for her! How am I supposed to know where the old lady hides on this humongous pla-”

“She’s in pain Hana _hurry!_ ”

Coincidentally, or perhaps not, after her last word was shouted the back door slammed open. Standing at the doorway broad and strong, rifle strapped to her back and eye already pinpointing the groaning blue skinned woman.

“So Jack wasn’t going crazy.”

“Oh thank goodness you’re here! I need you to sedate her. Knock her out until I can reactivate my Caduceus again.”

Her single gaze was still locked onto Widowmakers body, cloak whistling a whisper with every step forward she took. Lena watched her carefully, sensing an underlying tension rise within the room.

“Ana?-” she grunted, loss of concentration almost having Widowmaker break free from her hold. “Ya’ think you could hurry it up a bit?”

Her glare then reverted to the young British girl, in an instant bringing a shiver to her spine. Slowly she reached into the folds of her coat, fingers brushing hesitantly over the cool syringe. Begrudgingly, unable to ignore the desperate cries growing louder and more imperative, in a swift movement the needle was out and sinking into the woman’s arm.

“There,” she finished, injecting the contents and studying the gradual fade of struggles. “Now are we going to toss her overboard or what?”

“Mother!”

“Ana!”

“What? It was just an opinion.”

…

When Widowmaker awoke, there was smoke. Not really any sort of pain, more so just a throb here and there. When she attempted at sitting up however, the throb soon rose to an ache. _Slowly_ , is what she thought, deciding to use her elbows to help prop herself up.

“Ah! –” Her arms gave out underneath her weight almost immediately, sending her face first back onto the comforter she was lying on. “Fils de _pute_ [son of a _bitch._ ]”

“Yeah I wouldn’t try getting up darlin’. You got yourself some might painful sores right now.”

_Oh wonderful. Just what I needed._

“I -” interrupting herself with a throaty cough, smacking her tongue with her mouth and testing out the dry condition. She glared to the left, discovering a large window in the now-identified small containment unit. Typical. White walls, one large translucent window, and a small cot.

“ _I_ ,” clearing her throat and doing her best to ignore the shrieks of her muscles. “—will do as I please.”

“ _You_ ,” hearing this as she managed to sit herself up, back leaning up against the wall and general direction facing the person on the other side of the window. “–are going to end up hurting yourself even more.” She could have laughed to this, in fact she sort of did end up laughing at it. Muffled laughter, giddy in an almost drugged way. Because _did it really matter anymore?_ She was dead to Talon, just as Talon was dead to her. There wasn’t really a point in life to any further extent.

“Lena,” she felt herself say, still smiling widely. Her hair was out, streaming across her shoulders with occasional strands coming to obstruct her view. She didn’t mind, not even bothering to brush away at them.

“Yeah?”

“You are very cute.”

Exceptionally pleased at the response she got, watching the vivid blush form from Tracer’s neck and up to her cheeks. Bonus with the angry scowl that followed after, ducking that cute button nose down and rushing out and away from her amused stare.

“And doctor,” lolling her head to look up to the top right corner of the room. A completely empty spot besides the faint blinking of a small red light, something that could have only been caught onto by the eyes of a hawk. “I assume you will be joining my company soon?”

Of course there was no answer. She just felt the need to acknowledge the offending watch on her.

Her keen observation paid off though, no sooner being greeted with the sight of the physician herself. White lab coat, coffee mug in one hand and half eaten protein bar in the other. Beside her was another woman, contrasting dark skin with an overall well-muscled figure. Pharah, she came to recognize. A dangerous opponent when it came to close ranged combat.

“Hello Widowmaker.”

“Might as well call me by the name you all know me as doctor. Talon will no doubt be searching for me under my tagged label.”

“Which will be worried about later,” Angela quickly spoke up before Fareeha could speak. “As if now, our complete focus will be on the injuries you have come to acquire.”

“Ah yes.” Widowmaker looked down to her limp arms, taking heed to the gauze wrapped all along her forearms. Her feet as well, the plaster reaching up to the middle of her shin. “May I have the rundown of my damage intake?”

“If we’re summarizing it all up-”

“No. The entire explanation if you please.”

“As you wish,” sounding not so sure though, split second decision deciding to go ahead with it anyway. “Firstly, you need to be aware that you were in that contraption for over three minutes. Around 16,000 volts from what Tracer managed to read at before she smashed the entire thing to bits. What you’re feeling right now are the burns, all classified as third degree. Most of which I was able to heal but some –as you may have noticed, were more foremost in the harm done.”

“I presume that is why I have these,” gesturing to her arms, “strapped onto me.”

“Yes. The areas where you were strapped down were the same area to discharge the electricity given. The charge given however majorly exceeded the time you were most likely supposed to be prearranged to, resulting in the metal _literally_ melting into your skin.”

The metal melting into her skin.

_“Down to the bone.”_

“Thank you for the briefing.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now,” taking a deep breath and disregarding the sudden twinge after the thought of “ _to the bone”_ came to mind. Instead, she restudied her focal point, concentrating. “I can understand the heroic morals that resulted in the action of facilitating me from the damage I was being subjected to back in the facility, but _come_ now. You don’t expect me to believe that I am only here, in this containment unit, slowly being restored to health – _only_ because of the inflicted injuries I have taken on.”

“What’re you trying to say?” Fareeha asked, first words to be said throughout the entire conversation so far. Her arms were crossed, defensive pose activated at the offensive voice of their “convict”.

“Do not expect me to believe that my presence in this cell is based off the sole motive of “heroic business”. I’ve killed many people. I’ve killed many of _your_ people to be more precise. If it were up to your team’s opinion, I’d be dead in a sewer by now.”

“Well,” a new voice spoke up, stepping into the view of the window and smirking. “You are definitely not wrong about that.”

“If I can recall correct, I do remember specifically informing you to stay out of the lab Ana.”

“Now why would I do that? I’ve been dying to meet our little Amelie. And _my_ , look at how much she’s grown. Hello dearie, remember me?”

A third individual to keep an eye on is what Widowmaker saw it as. She did remember her, years ago when she had first been starting out her new profession. Most memories of those times were fuzzy but from her perspective, it was quite hard to forget a target that had escaped her bullet. Let alone manage to graze her in the first place.

“I do.”

Helpless to the three of them. To the entire Overwatch band in particular. In no shape to fend for herself. Weak, everything about her was pathetic.

Clothing that didn’t belong to her, a building that held no name to describe itself.

And-

“Now Amelie, I want you to reach up to your neck and tell me what you feel.”

With a little bit of difficulty, she managed to do so. _Strange request_ , but who was she to refuse the order?

“I feel a plastic lining,” her hands slowly grazing over the area where skin should have been felt. “It circles all around my neckline. Almost like imitation to a collar.”

“Compare it to what you want. All you need to know is that we are watching and judging your every movements. If you so much as take even the slightest move outside of what we see fit, a shock will be administrated.”

Widowmaker only rolled her eyes, allowing her already tired arms to fall back to her sides.

“What a shocker.”

“Not to the extreme in which you have experienced at Talon, but enough to handicap your movements until an Overwatch agent is able to deactivate it. It is also programmed to impose a stun if you surpass the boundaries of the building you’re currently taking sanctuary in.”

“Sanctuary hm? Of course, right. Back to my original question though if you don’t mind me asking, why am I in this – _sanctuary_ as you say? It’s clear to see that some of your people,” glancing over to Ana’s glowering eye, “don’t want me here.”

“You’re a threat,” Fareeha answered, taking her queue and uncrossing her arms, instead placing them on her hips. “You have always _been_ a threat. Some of us may want you dead, but another half of us still respect the person you once used to be. So instead we’d like information in exchange for rehabilitation.”

She nearly laughed.

She nearly spit at them.

“Don’t even joke with me.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to think about it.”

In other words, they would bore her to their will.

.

…

.

I am terrified of what I will become.

I am terrified of what you will become.

I am terrified of what we have befallen into.

As if the color of my skin wasn’t enough to show it, I am intoxicating. Intoxicated, these veins traversing within my limbs carrying blood seethed with a liquid whose function rationalized the actions to my triggering finger. Metal against flesh, cold against chilled, the second I push down becomes the minute I’m dragged further into the drugged sensation of _alive_.

C'est frustrant. [It’s frusterating.]

Truly it is.

“This is getting a bit old, ain’t it love?”

“Shut up.”

 _Tappity tap tap tap_ her heart bumps a hammer across my head while -- _knockity knock knock_ am I even aware of my own thoughts anymore? The understanding of a basic notion, think on it. Think on _this_. The needs and wants, from requisites to desiring fantasized fantasies. Is there even a true difference between the two? The survival of the two convectional perceptions, needs and wants pulled and groaned amid the procession of our ridiculed ‘quality time’ as Reaper puts it. Not only the damned man of shadows course, to everyone it developed into a noticeable issue. Talon himself having came to perceive the increasingly wait time of a head on a platter, taking extra measures as to address it in person. Doubting me.

_Doubting me._

I could feel the narrow of my eyes and the drifting in his lies. My work, sloppy? My kills, rushed? Crimes careless and work done as though losing interest in the target’s heart thumping a noise that almost delineates the definition of annoyance.

“If necessary, I’m willing to assign a different representative to complete the mission.”

To have another insignificant bamboozle claim my execution. I think _not_.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I won’t if you’ll just get the job done.”

“You doubt me then?”

“Yes.”

Eyes flashing a dangerous red. “Well do not. She is _my_ kill, and my kill alone.” Ready to defend my word with my actions.

“You French women are ridiculous.”

So when he leaves my quarters, a warning in his voice and a threat in his language, I am given my time to reflect. An echo of the days of the week events processed through a period of silence, hands folded under my chin and eyes closed while reclining on the couch. It’s mostly bland to say, the grey blood and silent pleas to a God I watch through a tinted glare. Uninterested really, quite the bore it begins to show after years of its obligation.

Then there’s her.

Out of the grey stains of blood, there comes a splatter of color. Bothersome as it may come to be, but appealing on another judgment. She is a challenge at the least of things, daring and brave, maintaining a demeaning form despite her short height.

It will truly be a shame to have to watch her go.

.

…

.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2?? I really want them to kind of just make out already 
> 
>  
> 
> Special thanks to my fellow pal @jaegeristic for assisting me with my poor French skills. God bless
> 
> plasticface.tumblr.com
> 
> ' 3 '


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